


Aftermath

by darkandstormyslash



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Descriptions of sexual acts, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Morning after the night before, bad gun handling, description of mild panic attack, descriptions of physical violence, imagined parental violence, mickey freaking out, reflections on anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 14:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15753474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: I've gotten hooked on Shameless lately, so working my way through the episodes. This is a little one-shot of the moment in S1E7 when Ian and Mickey are in bed together. Fills in some events of the frantic sex, Mickey's thoughts on it all, and of course Ian getting the gun back.





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pure_bastard_extract](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pure_bastard_extract/gifts).



> For Bastard - because we both wanted some more Mickey in the world.

When he cums, Mickey’s pretty sure he almost passes out. It hits him like a shock of electricity, like a fork in a plug socket zapping straight through his body. It’s nothing he’s ever had before. Certainly nothing that any amount of shameful self-exploration with his fingers while propped up under a stuttering lukewarm shower could ever prepare him for. He’s known for a while that there are things he can do to his body that make it feel good, but never before has he ever experienced anything that made it feel quite as good as this.

There’s a tickling warmth across his back and Mickey blinks hazily as Ian tugs the big red scratchy blanket over his body and snuggles in alongside him.“Wha-“ he manages, which is about as far as he can get through _what the fuck are you doing?_

Ian gives him a stupid dumb grin through floppy ginger hair, and Mickey reaches a hand up lazily to try and push his face away. He’s aching all over but it’s a hell of a good ache; the side of his face from where Ian hit him, his back from where he bounced off the wall, his shoulder from another hit sometime back when it was still a scrambling fight between the two of them. And of course the newfound ache in his ass, which is throbbing gently to the thud of his heartbeat as he starts to calm.

Fuck but that was _good_. He needs more of that in his life.

Slowly he rolls onto his back, groaning gently. He manages to mumble out “Cigarette?”, but his voice clearly isn’t working well enough yet because Ian just gives him another dumb grin. Ian’s smile is strange. Sweet, but somehow very unconnected to what just happened. In the moment it was a mad frantic rush of grunting and gasping, a sudden painful sting followed by an unnaturally wide stretch in a place he’d never been stretched so wide before. It was gasping silent swearwords as Ian’s hands dug into where Ian’s fists had hit, fingers pressing down on the back of his neck where the skin still tingles. That felt right, that didn’t feel dangerous. Now suddenly it’s turned into cuddles and smiles which feel a hell of a lot less safe in the cold light of day.

Mickey pushes himself up onto his elbows, tipping his head back and relishing the sweet throb of his ass around the rim where the stretch was worst. Not to mention the one deep inside, the ghost of the hard thrusting that had felt fucking glorious, “Why the fuck are you still here?”

“Hmm?” Ian is gazing up at him adoringly, and the warm happy feeling inside Mickey starts to stab into panic as he hears a crash from the kitchen.

“Shit. He’s still… fuck. Why the _fuck_ are you still here?”

He hears Mandy’s voice, high pitched and angry, and gives Ian a shove to get him to move. Before Ian can even start to tug the covers out the way the door swings open and Terry is there, lurching into the room in an angry hungover lump.

Mickey’s first thought is to bolt, bolt out the window, out the door, out of anywhere. Except at the same time his body has frozen in place, limbs heavy and motionless. His eyes follow Terry across the room as he staggers through to the bathroom.

His first ever fuck with a man and it’s going to kill him.

Maybe, he thinks wildly, they’ll have to fight. Maybe Ian will fight his dad. Maybe Ian will _kill_ his dad. Maybe skinny ginger Ian Gallagher will split Terry’s head open with a crowbar then sweep Mickey up into his arms. Any maybe then hell will freeze over and money will rain from the sky because that’s a fantasy that’s clearly never happening and Mickey would probably shoot himself out of sheer embarrassment if it ever did. Mickey doesn’t have that kind of control over his life – Terry controls it and Mickey just lives it, stumbling through and trying to grab as many moments of precious downtime as he can.

His hands ball into fists, nervously twitching at the covers. Maybe he can get a punch in first; one good swing. Maybe then he won’t just be helplessly frozen against the sheets feeling the crack of Terry’s fists, and Mickey has _seen_ what those fists can do to a man. The fear makes him shiver, hands uncurling to nervously pick at the blankets. He glances at Ian as he hears Terry start to piss, jerking his head quickly at the door. Ian looks confused – why does he look confused, why doesn’t he look fucking terrified the way Mickey’s feeling? He clearly doesn’t get what Mickey’s trying to silently indicate, namely that he should _run now_ before Terry gets out of the bathroom and sees them.

Face. It’ll be his face first he _knows_. Always is with Terry. Cheakbone cracking under the blows, then one in the stomach, _fuck_. Maybe Terry will go for Ian first and Mickey can dive out the window? More likely Terry will just sling Ian out the door with an enraged roar then concentrate his attentions on his son. At least Terry isn’t wearing boots, doesn’t have a belt, but as the sound of piss slowly trickles to a halt Mickey remembers with a sickly lurch that the damn _crowbar_ is still there lying innocently on the floor.

Terry is standing in front of them.

Time seems to speed up and slow down all at once. Mickey’s eyes flicker instantly to the wall as Terry turns to look at them, staring unseeing at a scuffed torn poster. There’s no time to run, move or talk, yet Terry’s words come out with treacle slowness. Mickey knows he can’t let Terry see the fear in his eyes, that’s ten minutes with the crowbar right there. Can’t look afraid, can’t look weak, can’t let either his dad or Ian realise he’s almost pissing himself under the blankets.

And then miraculously Terry is gone.

Mickey’s eyes flicker back to the door as Terry’s words finally register in his brain, letting out a breath he didn’t quite realise he’d been holding. He hears Ian give a relieved sort of gasp from next to him. Suddenly an evening’s worth of beer and his first ever proper fucking catch up with him and Mickey feels a wave of dizzying sickness. Ian turns towards him but Mickey’s suddenly all movement, scrabbling at the covers and grabbing at an unwashed shirt from the floor.

“So … uh…” Ian manages and Mickey isn’t sure whether he wants to be sick on Ian or kick him in the teeth. He’s more interested in getting dressed anyway, yanking the shirt over his head and then looking around desperately for his trousers.

“You OK?” Ian asks, taking a step back as Mickey turns on him, shaking and gasping. He takes an even bigger step back as Mickey reaches into the bedside drawer and pulls out Kash’s gun.

It feels better with the gun in his hand. Much, much better. Mickey lifts it up and points it at the wall, directly where he was staring when Terry turned to face them. He badly wants to shoot it, but the last thing he needs is noise that’ll bring any other family members in.

Ian is still standing there, naked and confused. Mickey gestures with the gun, “Get your clothes on, for fucks sake, didn’t you hear him?”

A small frown creases into Ian’s face as he pulls on his clothes silently. There’s the sound of pans clattering and raised voices from the kitchen and Mickey scowls at the floor. He doesn’t want to go out and eat shitty eggs with a badly hungover Terry. He wants to stay here and have another go on Ian Gallagher.

Ian holds out his hand and Mickey stares at it uncomprehending.

“Mickey? The gun?”

“Fuck off…” but it doesn’t come out angry, more resigned. Kash’s gun, the odds of Kash hitting anything with it are pretty low so Mickey rolls his eyes and passes it over. Right now he’d be happy to hand over a lot more just to get Ian out safely. It occurs to Mickey that he’s just traded a gun for his virginity and he gives a twitching little smile that Ian completely misinterprets and answers with a beaming grin. Mickey flips up his middle finger in reply, watching half-dressed as Ian tucks the gun into his waistband then pulls on his jacket and scoots out the door.

Once he’s alone Mickey takes a deep shuddering breath, scrubbing his face with the balls of his hands. Fuck but that was a close call.

His jeans are in a scrunched up ball by the bed and Mickey tugs them on, hissing slightly as they pull up over his ass. Gently, he reaches back under the jeans, squeezing hard at one asscheak with his hand, trying to recapture a bit of that moment. The moment with Ian’s breath hot against his neck, the moment where it hadn’t mattered whether he was a fag, or a bitch, or a dumb piece of Southside trash. All that had mattered was the feeling that was _so good_ it transcended everything, breaking the world down into a manageable place.

He has to get some more of that. And right now, Mickey figures that Ian Gallagher is probably the safest person to get it from.


End file.
